


Feel You in My Bones

by E707



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: C137cest, Incest, M/M, Slow Burn, rickmorty, rorty, spoilers for s03e01, the angst is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E707/pseuds/E707
Summary: There would have been nothing unusual about the dreams at all, really, if Morty hadn't woken after each and every one with a fierce and unrelenting erection.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers up to and including Season 3, Episode 1: The Rickshank Rickdemption. 
> 
> All sexual interaction between Rick and Morty occurs when Morty is 16 years old, so read with caution.
> 
> Title taken from the Meg Myers song 'Desire', which never fails to give me Rick/Morty feels.

The night of Thanksgiving when he was 12 years old, Morty wet the bed.

He remembered, because a fortnight earlier he had seen Steven Spielberg's cult classic ' _Jaws_ ' for the first time, and for months afterward had envisioned sharp teeth rising from the depths of every possible source of water, haunted by dreams of a terrible endless ocean.

As he stood watching his father gather up his bed sheets, exchanging his soiled pajama bottoms for a worried smile, Morty had promised himself that it would be the last time.

Two nights later, it would happen again.

Morty had never been a lucid dreamer. In sleep, as in the waking world, he found himself powerless. Naturally it followed, when he spent so much of his time being dragged through one adventure after another by the man, that Rick would soon begin to invade his dreams as well.

The appearances were innocuous by nature. Morty would be asking Jessica on a date in some doorless hallway full of snickering onlookers, and Rick would appear in the crowd, mocking him; or a monster of some kind would have its jaws closing around his head, and Rick would spring into the dream just in time to ' _save your ass, yet again, MoUAOrty.'_

Sometimes his dreams were really just memories, enhanced. The smell of the garage late at night, the sound of Rick's fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he piloted the ship, the way the man arched his eyebrows when he was making it clear just how stupid he thought Morty was.

There would have been nothing unusual about the dreams at all, really, if Morty hadn't woken after each and every one with a fierce and unrelenting erection.

At 14 years old, Morty felt reasonably sure that his bodily responses, though mortifying, were purely hormonal. If, after one of these dreams, he avoided eye contact with Rick over the breakfast table, or stuttered a little more noticeably whenever his grandfather said his name, then that was nothing to be scrutinized either.

The pleasant tingling of his skin whenever Rick shoved him out of the way of a coming projectile, or leaned in a little too close to deliver a scathing account of Morty's intelligence, indicated, at worst, an emotional dependency problem coupled with masochistic tendencies. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to bother mentioning to anyone, anyway. Least of all Rick.

In fact, Morty had planned on taking all knowledge of these sensations to his grave, until he woke late one night with a customary tightness in his groin and a pair of eerily familiar eyes boring down into his own.

Fear seized him, a scream clawed its way up his throat, but the hand clamped over his mouth silenced him before it had a chance to escape.

"Your pistol." A voice demanded, and the deadly confidence of it gave his intruder away instantly. It had been months since he had disappeared in a crowd of Mortys bound for other dimensions, but even without the eye patch, this Morty stood apart.

Shakily, Morty pointed across the room to his dresser, and the other, 'Evil' Morty as he had heard Rick dub him once, slowly removed his hand, though not without a piercing stare that warned his nervous counterpart to remain in his bed.

Sweat rolled down Morty's temple as he watched his doppelganger reach a hand into his sock drawer, emerging with the hardly-used laser pistol that Rick had given him only a few months prior, a 'safety measure' in case they ever became separated. It rested in Evil Morty's palm with a comfortability and sense of belonging that Morty himself had never been able to achieve.

"H-hey man," Morty stuttered, and the other's eyes fixed on him again, sending a cold shiver down his spine. "There's no need to, y-you know, do - do anything rash here..."

Evil Morty watched him, expressionless, before his gaze fell to Morty's lap, where the sheets of his bed were tented tellingly. Morty's entire body flushed with shame, though he was mortified less by his state of arousal than the glint in Evil Morty's eyes which told him that somehow, inexplicably, he knew the reason why.

The silence between them was thick with things unsaid, seemed to stretch for ages, and Morty wondered, briefly, if it was pity he saw reflected in those eyes, identical to his own in almost every way, or disgust.

At last, Evil Morty fished a small device from his pocket, pointing it at Morty's bedroom door. Green light washed over the room as the gaping mouth of a portal opened in its place, the static pull of the temporal shift standing every hair on Morty's arms and legs on end.

Apparently having retrieved what he came for, Evil Morty spared his interdimensional duplicate one last, fathomless stare, before turning toward the portal. Morty was struck by an immense sense of relief, before the other halted mid-step, hand still gripping the loaded pistol.

Evil Morty's voice reached him in a cool monotone. "Watch out for him... for Rick." He said, and Morty blinked in surprise.

He opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn't sure what he could have to say, but Evil Morty was gone and the portal closed behind him before he had time to do more than gape in reply.

In the sudden, quiet darkness of the room, as the sweat cooled on his sheets, Morty found himself thinking: since when had that guy concerned himself with the well-being of a Rick?

The next day, as they stood in what approximated to an interstellar shipyard, Rick seemed to sense Morty's disquiet.

"Shit, Morty, what - what's got your panties in a bunch, huh?" Rick demanded as he took a long swig from the foul-smelling flask he kept in his coat pocket. "We're, here we are on our way to Cremulon 5, _home_ of the plumbus, to h-have some great adventure, and you're moping around like some chick whose prom date just ditched her for the head ch _UOHE_ erleader."

Morty shifted uncomfortably, tore his gaze away from where he had been staring listlessly at the stars, focusing instead on his grandfather's narrowed eyes, lingering on the thin, disapproving line of his mouth.

"I-it's nothing, Rick." Morty replied quickly, colour in his cheeks. "Just - just I didn't get a great night's s-sleep, that's all."

"The problem with you, Mm _OUR_ ty," Rick belched as he dragged Morty toward the next shuttle, "is you've let yourself grow depen - depend - you're addicted to sleep, Morty." Another long swill of alcohol accompanied his words. "Dulls the mind."

Despite planning to do so, multiple times, Morty could never quite bring himself to tell Rick about Evil Morty's appearance in his bedroom that night. He could easily have omitted the more embarrassing aspects of the story, even made it out like he had put up a fight. It certainly would have been easier than submitting himself to Rick's verbal abuse as he blathered his way through some lame excuse about misplacing his laser pistol. But something about what Evil Morty had said, or perhaps the way in which he had said it, always stopped him just short of telling Rick the truth.

It wasn't until many months later, as Morty stood in Birdperson's nest-like tree house, gazing at photos of a younger, happier-looking Rick holding what could only be a baby Morty in his arms, that the pieces of the puzzle finally began falling in to place.

Because if there was any one thing he knew about Rick, any solid fact at all, it was this: he had grown up without ever knowing the man. Even his mother, Rick's own daughter, hadn't seen him for twenty odd years, since she herself was in high school.

And so the question remained: who was Rick holding in those pictures?

"Rick," Morty asked him once, mustering his courage as he sat on the cold titanium floor of a Traflorkian jail cell. "Did you ever want to see mom, you - you know, all those years you were gone? Like... did you know she was married? D-did you even know that I-I-I _existed?"_

"What?" Rick grunted as his head emerged from a panel in the floor, wires clutched in his fists. "Th-this isn't the time for your insipid blatherings, Morty. Now get over here and reach those skinny arms of yours through these bars, we're getting out of here."

Morty found himself pondering the day that he had met the Interdimensional Council of Ricks, and the Rickcidel epidemic that had led them there. Ricks and Mortys alike had gathered for the debriefing. He still remembered standing in the grand Council chambers, echoes of his own voice as Mortys whispered all around him, and the haunted expression on Rick's face as they were told the truth.

'Evil' Rick, who had been the puppet of an unknown master, had enslaved countless Mortys to power a shield against the Council, and ruthlessly exterminated Rick after Rick in an elaborate effort to frame and lure Rick C-137 to his lair - and for, what? His memories?

For the first time, Morty wondered if his 'evil' counterpart hadn't had more to do with it than he led on.

 _'Watch out for him... for Rick.'_ The words resounded in Morty's mind, repeated themselves in an endless loop, growing in significance each time. He hadn't said ' _my_ Rick', but then, he hadn't said ' _your_ Rick' either.

"Do you remember the day I was born?" Morty tried on a different occasion, "w-where were you? Why weren't you there? What were you doing?"

"Shit, Morty," Rick had shrugged, refusing to meet the teenager's eyes. "That was ages ago I-I, how the fuck do I know?"

Morty was surprised how much it hurt when he finally realised that he wasn't Rick's original Morty. It struck him in the center of his chest and spread to the tips of his fingers, a strange sort of grief.

Of course, that didn't stop the dreams.

Long, clever fingers clutching his shoulder, the stench of spirits so strong he could taste it, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Morty was assaulted by the visage of Rick almost every night, and awoke to sticky sheets and skin tingling with the need to be touched.

It wasn't as though Morty didn't try to steer his sexuality toward a more attainable, less psychologically scarring target. When Morty touched himself, he forced images of bouncing breasts and painted lips into his mind. Each time, he would cling desperately to the faces of girls he had passed in the hall, the body of the voluptuous school librarian, the sights and sounds of the porn on his computer, even as he turned soft in his own hand.

"W-why do I have to wear a seat belt?" Morty complained as they climbed into the ship early one morning, before his family woke. "You never do!"

"Shut up, Morty." Rick barked impatiently. "Buckle in, you - you little shit."

Morty bristled, tugging his seat belt on roughly. "I'm, you know, I'm not a little kid anymore, Rick."

"Yeah, yeah," Rick replied sarcastically as he put the ship into overdrive and peeled out of the garage at light speed. "You're a real man now, Morty. Wa _OUH_ tch out, universe, Morty Smith's coming for you."

Morty glowered silently out the window for the entire journey, mentally cataloging everything about Rick that made him such an asshole, all the reasons he shouldn't put up with him, shouldn't want him. If Rick noticed, he didn't care.

Only once they reached their destination, a celestial dwarf with four huge, luminous moons and no sun, did Morty allow himself to take an interest. The surface was dense with overgrowth, and long slug-like creatures clung to the bulbous branches of what he could only assume were this world's equivalent of trees, glowing a soft purple in the dim light.

The moment they disembarked, Rick shoved an old gym bag and a pair of kitchen tongs into Morty's hands, to match the set he himself wielded. Morty raised an eyebrow contemptuously.

"This is what we're doing?" He asked, tone lethally acerbic. "Collecting space slugs?"

" _Bilzom tubes_ , Morty. They only breed once every lunar cycle, you know how often that happens on a world with four moons, Morty?" Rick leaned in close, grinning. "Once every twelve years. And it's happening right now. We'd be fo _OUO_ ols not to get a piece of that action, Morty."

Morty hated how easily Rick could sway him, could feel the chilly silence he'd maintained for the past few hours already melting away under the warmth of Rick's smile, of the hand he placed on his shoulder.

Tearing his gaze away from the old man's, he focused once again on the peaceful, glowing slugs.

"I don't know, Rick," Morty said uncertainly. "These things look pretty harmless. Isn't it, you know, 'wrong' to disturb their fragile ecosystem?"

"Are you kidding me, Morty?" Rick replied. "You know how much a mature bilzom tube fetches in the right market? We could get 250, maybe 300 flurbos a pop for these babies!"

Morty rolled his eyes. He should have guessed it was about money. "How are we supposed to capture them?" He asked at last, resigning himself.

"Don't even worry about it." Rick answered, eyes wide with enthusiasm. "They're so dumb, Morty. They live on a world with no natural predators. You can just pluck them right off those branches, they won't e-even fight back. Just don't disturb the trees. They pack a re _UHE_ al punch."

Rick clapped him on the back, beaming. Morty tried hard not to let it show how much it affected him.

After twenty minutes or so of listening to Rick lecturing him on the exact hue and luminosity required to optimise a bilzom tube's value, Morty agreed, reluctantly, to splitting up and covering more ground.

The forest was eerily calm and winsome almost to the point of being unnerving as Morty wandered its depths, stopping now and again to extend an arm, take hold of a bilzom tube and work it carefully off of the branch it clung to, before shoving it into the filling bag slung at his side.

Inevitably, Morty's mind wandered. The warmth he still felt where Rick had lain a hand on his back led him to wonder, what would it feel like to have those hands sliding over his bare skin? Would they feel calloused and greedy, or smooth and gentle?

What would they taste like?

Morty almost jumped out of his skin when something akin to a hoof fell on his shoulder, heavy and alien.

A nasally screech erupted from behind him, and Morty turned to see a long, yellow snout with tiny, black eyes squinting down at him. He tried to squirm away as the creature emitted another horrible, angry cry.

"I don't, I-I wasn't..." Morty stammered, shaking his head as he tried desperately to separate himself from the impossibly strong grip of the limb clasping his shoulder.

" _Hey!_ " A voice carried from between the trees, and Morty's heart skipped a beat as he spotted his grandfather running toward them. Within seconds Rick was there, wrenching Morty behind him and out of the alien's painful grasp. "You got a problem with my grandson, asshole, then you got a problem with me."

The alien's gaze slid from Morty, who shamelessly hid behind his grandfather, to Rick, who returned the alien's scowl tenfold.

Another terrible, shrill bellow escaped the alien's elongated trunk.

"We got here first, buddy. I a-ain't leavin'."

Several short, aggressive shrieks.

"Yeah, sure, I got a permit, it's from the interplanetary committee of kiss my a _AOU_ ss."

Morty noticed the alien's hand reaching for its gun before Rick did. The club-like appendage unfurled into a mass of fingers, slid over the glowing handle of the weapon at its hip. Morty's heart leapt in to his throat as he yanked Rick's pistol out of his coat pocket and shoved it in the alien's face.

"Woah, Morty, what the fuck!" Rick exclaimed, and the alien reeled back in surprise.

"Just - just stay where you are! D-don't move!" Morty shouted, voice cracking. The pistol felt unsteady in his hands, but his finger was poised over the trigger.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rick demanded angrily. "You trying to get us all killed, Morty?"

Morty ignored him.

"Put your h-hands up where I can see them!" He ordered.

"Morty, you little bitch ass punk-!"

At the same time that Rick reached for the pistol, the alien's momentary shock subsided, and it lunged itself at Morty with a scream so painfully high-pitched that Morty dropped one hand from the gun to cover his ears, and pulled the trigger with the other.

A powerful electric charge shot from the end of the pistol, spectacularly missed the alien's head, and punched a hole straight through the bulbous trunk of the tree behind them.

No one moved. When Morty dared a glance at the alien's face, he expected murderous anger, but found terror instead.

"What-?"

"Run!" Rick shouted.

The alien needed no further encouragement, knocking Morty to the ground in its haste to escape as noxious violet gas began bleeding from the tree, erupting in thick waves that swept the forest floor. Morty felt the burn of a hundred thousand tiny mouths biting at the skin of his ankle, before Rick yanked him to his feet. With one hand buried in Morty's shirt, he took off sprinting.

In a deadly cascade, gas began oozing from the porous surface of every tree they passed. Within seconds the burning smog was building up to their waists, licking at the backs of their legs as they ran, singing their clothes.

Ahead of them, the alien tripped and fell. Crying in terror, the smog quickly enveloped it. All that emerged were the alien's gurgling screams, echoing far behind them.

"Rick!" Morty cried.

"Get to the ship!" Rick ordered, pointing to a distant metallic gleam in the dim light.

The gas was quicker, it billowed around them, burning their chests and filling their lungs. The pain was excruciating, every step harder than the last as they gasped for air and there was nothing to breathe but the carnivorous fog.

Rick was slowing down. Wracking coughs sent spittle and blood flying. As he doubled over himself in pain, Morty met his eyes, and for the briefest of moments he could read everything Rick was thinking. Rick let go of his shirt.

Quick as a flash, Morty buried a hand in Rick's coat.

"Come on!" He commanded.

He had known for years now that his purpose in life was to protect Rick, to be his human shield. But it wasn't until that moment, with every inch of skin on his body burning as he dragged Rick to safety, that Morty realised he would die for him.

As soon as the doors were sealed, Rick was tearing through the ship, hacking and wheezing and toppling everything in his wake as he scoured its contents for whatever it was that would make the pain go away.

Morty's lungs were ablaze. He could feel them being eaten from the inside, blood pooling on his palms as he coughed.

A popping sound accompanied a deep groan, and then hard fingers were burying themselves into Morty's arm, held him still as Rick pressed cold metal against his skin, and a vial of dark, viscous fluid was emptied into his veins.

The burning stopped almost immediately, and sweet, cold relief swept through Morty's body.

"Oh my god," he breathed, chest rattling. "That was a close one, Ri-"

Rick took hold of Morty and shook him with such force that Morty felt his teeth snap together.

"You fuck, you - you idiot!" Rick shouted, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "Y-you - what the fuck were you thinking, Morty, huh? I'm not dying quick enough for you, you gotta expedite the process?"

Morty surprised even himself when tears began to prick his eyes. "I w-was thinking that y-y-you were gonna get shot, Rick! Okay? I-I thought that guy was gonna-"

"What? Shoot me with his ticket gun?" Rick asked, bitingly sarcastic. "He was a permit officer, Morty. A - a glorified groundskeeper! He was gonna give me a fine!"

Red, hot humiliation washed over Morty's face. Rick's expression informed him that he had reached a new level of stupidity.

"H-how was I supposed to know that?" Morty countered. "He was screaming at you-"

"That's how piklions _speak_."

"I-I was trying to defend you, you know that?" Morty exploded angrily, shoving Rick's hands away. "I thought that guy was gonna kill you, and I put my life on the line to - to s-save your sorry ass!"

"Oh, yeah, real good - good job, _Morty_." Rick spat, glaring down at him. Even for all he'd grown, Rick still towered head and shoulders above him. "Not only did you almost get us killed, but you ruined all the - the bilzom tubes, Morty. They're worthless now. Really gre _OUA_ at thinking there, genius. Good fucking job."

Morty didn't know what to say. How was it that no matter what he did, it was always wrong?

It was a long ride back to Earth. Neither of them spoke, and eventually the gentle hum of the ship's inertial compensators and Cher's _'If I Could Turn Back Time'_ crackling over the radio lulled Morty to sleep.

Images of Rick, lying in a pool of his own blood, haunted his dreams.

When Morty woke, he was still in the ship. Curled up in the worn leather seat, he could hear no sound, not even the engine was running, and from behind his closed eyelids he could tell that there was no light.

Rick was watching him.

Morty could feel it, the presence of a body in the seat beside him, the sharp instinctual knowledge that eyes were trained on him.

The liquid sloshing sound as Rick rose his flask to take a long swill confirmed it.

"Mmmorty," the man said in a loud, slurred stage whisper. "Are you - you awake there, Morty?"

Morty remained perfectly still, lips slightly parted, breathing evenly.

Rick shifted in his seat. Like a string pulled taught between them, Morty could feel Rick drawing closer. Acrid breath hit Morty's cheek, the stench of alcohol strong enough to peel paint, but he didn't move. Only his heart thundering in his chest could have given him away.

A hand ghosted over Morty's hair, around the shell of his ear, and Morty suppressed the shiver that ran over him at the touch. Resisted the urge to lean into it.

"Morty..." Rick murmured.

He felt breath sweep over his lips, hot and damp, so close he knew all he had to do was to move a little to the left and they would be touching.

Morty cracked open his eyes, and found Rick's boring into his soul.

An inscrutable moment passed before the spell was broken. Rick pulled away with a belch, noisily cranked the pilot door open and slammed it shut behind him. With the ghost of Rick's breath lingering on his lips, Morty found himself alone in dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so flattered by all of the amazing kudos and comments this fic has been given! Thank you all!

Two weeks after Morty dragged himself to bed with the taste of his grandfather's voice on his lips, a wedding, betrayal and desperate family escape would end with Rick in a Galactic Federation prison.

For the first time in years, Morty focused on his school work. He passed his classes. He joined the school Spanish club. Hell, he even kissed a girl.

It was a complex experience. At a classmate's New Year's Eve party, Morty had managed, through sheer dumb luck, to land fifteen minutes in heaven with a girl too pretty and too popular to have ever even been in the same room as him. She was beautiful by anyone's standards, and Morty was ecstatic, giddy with fear and excitement as they were guided inside a basement closet by their snickering classmates.

Hesitantly, he met the girl's doey hazel eyes.

"I - uh, well," Morty stammered, cheeks flaming and palms sweating. "I-I'm not sure if you, uh, I'm Morty..."

The girl giggled, flipping her long black-brown hair. Morty was mesmerised.

"Sarah." She returned, in a voice as warm and smooth as honey.

Morty grinned, a little bashfully. In that moment, all he could think was how grateful he was for the growth spurt he'd had at the beginning of the semester, that he could stand eye-level with her.

"Nice to, uh, to meet you, Sarah."

"Well, Morty?" She replied, smiling, waiting for him to make his move.

It took all of Morty's courage, even his hair felt like it was sweating as he leaned in, but he let his eyes slide closed and pressed his puckered lips to hers.

It was a strange feeling. Messier than kissing Annie had been, those years ago in Anatomy Park. But there was something about the way Sarah tilted her head, and placed her hands gently on his chest, that made Morty feel strong and confident, for the first time in his life. After a few minutes of sliding lips, Morty grew bold, daringly rose a hand to one of Sarah's breasts, and was hit with a jolt of pride when she moaned approvingly.

It was going well, going fantastically, in fact, before her hand dropped to Morty's crotch, and she pulled away in confusion.

Nothing. Not even the stirrings of it.

"Am I doing something wrong, Morty?" Sarah asked, frowning as she withdrew her hand.

No. Yes. Morty gaped, his mouth opening and closing mutely as he ransacked his brain for a suitable reply, and came up empty.

Sarah looked offended. "I thought you liked me, Morty?"

"I-I-I do, Sarah, r-really," Morty stammered as his heart sank into his stomach, heavy as lead.

"Well, it doesn't seem like it." She replied in clipped tones. She was pulling away from him, toward the closet door.

"I-I just..." Morty stretched an arm toward her, saw it all slipping away before him, the best chance he'd ever had at something _normal_. What was wrong with him?

"It's fine, Morty." Sarah told him, though clearly it wasn't. "Don't worry about it, okay?" And then the closet door was open, and she left him there alone.

Outside, their classmates booed and laughed. A boy in the grade above stuck his head through the door to give Morty a scrutinizing look.

"What are you, gay or something?" He demanded.

Morty didn't reply. He had no idea what to say. If only it were that simple.

The day of his 16th birthday, Rick returned from prison.

In spite of all the fuss Summer had made about rescuing him, in the end, Rick hadn't needed their help at all. Morty couldn't say he was surprised. As he lay on the grimy garage floor, Rick looming over him, shouting maniacally about szechaun sauce, all Morty could think about was the shape of the gun still imprinted on his hand where he had clutched it tight, pointed it squarely at his grandfather's head, and shot.

He knew now that, unlike Rick, he would never be free.

Despite destroying a good portion of the Citadel and causing the deaths of innumerous Ricks and Mortys, it didn't take long for Rick to reconcile with his interdimensional selves. Co-operation was in the best interest of every Rick, and at the end of the day, every Rick only cared about himself. Morty never let himself forget that.

The dreams were worse than ever. Whereas before Rick had been a phantom, drifting in and out of otherwise unremarkable scenarios, Morty was now plagued by visions of Rick bending him over the kitchen table, cornering him in the living room, pinning him to his bedroom wall.

All pretence of masturbating to anything else had long since fled. Even then, it barely took the edge off the sexual frustration.

"Morty Smith of Earth Dimension C-137."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Morty cried, scrambling to cover himself with a towel as the door to the shower, in which he was currently relieving himself of a rigid hard-on, was yanked unceremoniously open. "I-I-I'm, can't you see I'm showering here, Rick!"

But it wasn't Rick, he realised belatedly. Not his Rick, anyway. The same messy grey hair, sharp eyes and frowning mouth, but the familiar insignia emblazoned on the front of his crisp white uniform informed Morty that this particular Rick was not his grandfather. A badge pinned to his chest read 'C-920'.

"Your contract has now been delivered." The Rick continued, unfazed, and a gloved hand shoved a thick wad of neatly-pressed paper into Morty's arms.

"W-what..?" Morty stammered as he juggled the heavy document, trying not to drip on it as he squinted at the dense text. It had to be at least 200 pages long.

"Have it signed and returned for review by the Interdimensional Council of Ricks." C-920 replied drolly, already turning back to the portal he had opened over the bathroom mirror.

"Oh, I - I knew it!" Rick crowed as he, too, sauntered into the bathroom without a care for Morty's modesty. "I knew I - I smelled a Rick-pig in the vicinity."

"Hey, fuck me, C-137." The Citadel Rick growled. "It's your fault I had to drag myself to this stinking cesspit of a dimension."

"No, fuck _me_ , buddy-"

"Wait, c-contract for what?" Morty interrupted, adjusting his towel awkwardly and flushing a dark red when both Ricks' eyes trained on him.

"For you." C-920 said, fixing Morty with an impatient glower. "You Mortys have been kicking up a shitstorm, you're real p-pains in the ass, and the Council in all their _infinite wisdom_ have decided to pander to your little tantrums, so now all us Ricks are required to give you - you Mortys the opportunity to demand something in return for your 'service'."

" _What?_ " Rick barked incredulously. "Since when?"

"Since _you_ killed most of the senior leadership at the Citadel and a new Council of _Morty-sympathisers_ was elected in their place."

Morty gazed down at the contract in something akin to awe. At the very back, he found a section of blank, lined paper where he was instructed to detail his requests. "I can ask for anything?"

"As long as your Rick agrees, sure." C-920 grumbled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have 367 other dimensions to get to before lunch. Adios."

After flipping his counterpart the bird in a final, emphatic farewell, C-920 departed and Morty was left with a stack of damp paper in his hands, an uncomfortably half-hard dick that he hoped his towel was obscuring, and his grandfather.

"Well, what do you want?" Rick demanded without missing a beat, arms crossed over his chest in a display of boredom. "Ice-cream every other Tuesday? Your own p-portal gun? Don't think that one's gonna fly with the Council, buddy."

There was only one thing Morty wanted, and it wasn't ice-cream. Images from last night's dream resurfaced, and Morty shoved them away hastily before his erection resurged and gave him away.

"I think I... I'll need time to think about it." Morty decided, holding the contract protectively to his chest, as though it might take wing and fly out of his reach.

The expression on Rick's face was curiously strained, and for a moment Morty was afraid that he might somehow have read his thoughts.

"Fine, whatever." Rick replied at length, the manufactured ease with which he waltzed out of the room serving only to accentuate the hard line of his shoulders.

Morty had wondered, at times, what might have happened to the Rick from his own dimension, the one who had disappeared three years before his older sister was born. Was there any chance he was still alive out there, somewhere? Or did he die on some alien world, having always intended to return? Had this Rick killed him, to take his place?

As Morty discreetly tucked the contract behind an old shoe box in his bedroom closet, he briefly considered requesting the truth. In the end, he decided against it. What did it really matter, anyway? This was the only Rick he had ever known.

It took almost a month of freedom for Rick to chose a night to get totally, completely plastered.

Morty was in his room, attempting to study when a loud crash traveled from downstairs, followed by the sound of breaking glass. He encountered Summer on the stairs as he begrudgingly went to investigate, and the concerned expression on her face broke his heart a little.

"Don't worry, I got it." Morty told her, with a smile he couldn't feel. He pat her back reassuringly as he made his way down to the garage, where loud swearing could be heard drifting from beyond the door.

As he stepped inside, Morty was greeted by the sight of Rick on his knees, gathering the shards of a broken container and nearly falling over himself in the process.

"What the hell are you doing, Rick?" Morty asked wearily.

" _Mmmorty_ ," Rick slurred loudly, looking up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. "Come help, help grandpa over here, Morty. Got-gotta finish... 's not safe..."

"Be quiet," Morty hissed, taking hold of the drunken man's arm and pulling him away from the floor just as Rick's face began veering dangerously close to a large shard of glass. "Just... sit here. I'll clean it up."

Whatever Rick was doing, he had been at it all night. Hastily-written formulae lined the paper strewn over the garage workbench, and as Morty bent to gingerly collect the remains of the beaker Rick had dropped, he could have sworn he spotted his name mentioned, more than once, in the frenzied scribble.

Abruptly, Morty felt Rick hovering behind him. The old man moved so silently, he hadn't even noticed him stand. Turning quickly, Morty found Rick's chest inches from his face. Slowly, he tilted his head to meet his grandfather's eyes.

Sometimes, when Rick looked at Morty, it was as if he were trying to see right through him, to find something under his skin.

A hard shove was delivered to Morty's sternum, almost caused him to lose his footing, glass crunching under the soles of his sneakers.

"What the fuck, Rick?" Morty demanded, hurt flashing over his face.

Rick's expression was utterly impassive, suddenly far more sober than he had been a moment ago, his gaze locked with Morty's in unmistakable challenge. He shoved him again, and Morty's back collided violently with the shelf against the wall.

Pain rippled through his body as Morty's hands curled into fists. Anger, and a sick sense of satisfaction, bubbled to the surface of his skin as he waited for the blow. If Rick wanted a fight, Morty would relish giving him one.

With a strength that belied his age, Rick took a hold of his shirt and lifted Morty almost entirely off of his feet. Hot breath, thick with the stench of alcohol, washed over Morty's face. Rick's hand rose steadily, and he flinched.

At the first clumsy drag of fingers through his hair, Morty's eyes flew open, just in time to see Rick's mouth descend upon his own.

It wasn't like kissing Sarah or Annie had been at all. Rick's mouth was rough, stubble scraped against Morty's chin, and the groan that followed was deep and needy, and male.

All the tension in Morty's body escaped in a rush. His knees buckled, and he emitted a long, embarrassing whine that had Rick pressing even closer, crowding Morty against the wall until all that he could see and hear and taste was _Rick_.

"S'all I was thinkin' about..." Rick murmured, nosing Morty's jaw, lips sliding under his ear. "The whole time..."

Morty's heart was slamming against his rib cage. _This can't be happening_ , he thought. _I'm dreaming._

A revealing lump brushed against Morty's belly, hard and demanding, and suddenly it all felt very, very real. Liquid fire pooled in his stomach as he met Rick's eyes, and found the same soul-eating lust reflected in them that had haunted Morty since he was 14 years old. Morty wasn't sure if that revelation elated him more than it terrified him.

All he knew was that he wanted more.

Just as it seemed like he was about to lean in and capture his mouth again, Rick turned his head, and vomited over Morty's shoulder.

"Fuck, Rick!" Morty exclaimed in disgust.

"Knew those tacos wer' bad." Rick belched, slumping against Morty's neck.

Morty ran a trembling hand over his face. His lips felt sensitive and raw. "W-we should get you into bed." He said at last, shakily.

Rick offered no resistance as Morty half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs and dropped him onto the creaking single cot that was the only real furniture to be found in the man's bedroom.

Even as he stood watching drool puddle on the pillow beside Rick's head, Morty considered shaking him awake. Screaming at him for everything he had ever done to make Morty hate him and love him the way that he did. Because, yes, they were grandfather and grandson, but they were also Rick and Morty, and the line between them had always been blurred, really, hadn't it?

Morty blinked, and it was morning. Sunlight pierced the room, falling warm and gentle on his face. Curled up on the floor at the foot of Rick's bed and still dressed in yesterday's clothes, he couldn't even remember falling asleep.

Rick was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Days turned into weeks without news.

Nothing held Morty's interest for long. Predictably, his grades slipped, the few friends he had made grew tired of him, and Morty retreated in to himself. Rick was gone, and only the sad gleam in his mother's eyes told him that he wasn't the only one who hoped that, this time, it wasn't for good.

In his dreams, rough, experienced lips raked over his own. Hands, trembling with inebriation, held fast to the base of his skull and quivered over the hem of his pants. A voice, husky and dark, murmured hot breath over his ear. When he woke, bitter tears falling in to his hairline as he jacked himself off viciously, Morty consoled himself with the knowledge that if he was to live the rest of his life in this hell of wanting and never having, at least Rick, where ever he was, had to be in there with him.

Late one night, as he lay in bed not sleeping, Morty's phone rang. The number was long and unfamiliar, and his blood stopped cold.

"Hello?" Morty answered quickly, and hoped his voice wouldn't sound as desperate through the receiver as it did in the loneliness of his room.

No voice answered, only the muffled honking of passing cars and heavy footsteps falling on pavement. Distantly, the 'aga blagh blagh' of a loud Garblovian could be heard.

Morty felt heavy with all the things that he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to make it any further than the tip of his tongue.

"Come home, Rick." He said at last, a simple, fervent plea.

A long, pained exhale was the only reply, and the line cut out.

Morty let the phone fall out of his hand and on to the pillow, feeling somehow more hollow than before.

The next day at school, as Morty watched his feet fall on the hall's checkered laminate floor, something Rick had once said to him swam unbidden to the forefront of his mind. _'It goes without saying that the Rickest Rick would have the Mortiest Morty,'_ the voice rang in his head. Morty felt like an idiot. He should have known, even then, that Rick wasn't talking about him.

A sharp electric charge cut the air. Green light washed over the whites of his sneakers. A moment passed before Morty dared to look up, but when he did, he found Rick, coat billowing in the static breeze of the portal behind him. Incandescent.

"Morty, there you are!" The man crowed, as though no time had passed between them at all. "There was a - a tragic accident, Morty. These two shuttles, they crashed, just outside Earth's atmosphere. Everyone died, Morty. Now there's at least fifty crates of fleeb juice - that's a year's worth of juice, Morty - and i-i-it's just floating out there! W-we've gotta go Morty, before someone else finds it. There's no time to lose!"

Morty's arms lifted wordlessly. A look of horror swept over Rick's face, and he recoiled as though afraid that the teenager were going to embrace him, before Morty slugged him in the stomach.

Rick wheezed in pain as the air was knocked from his lungs.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!" Morty was shouting, throwing every ounce of the anger and fear he had been grappling with for the past two weeks behind his fists. "Do you hear me, Rick?"

"Jesus, Morty, calm down!" Rick rasped, catching and holding Morty's arms above his head. "What the hell has gotten in to you?"

"Two years!" Morty howled. "Two years you used me as your human shield, dragging me through one t-traumatic experience after another! And then y-you just, just up and leave?"

"Keep your voice down, Morty," Rick hissed, just as heads were beginning to peer out of classroom windows up and down the hall.

"No!" Morty shouted. "You, you think you can ambush me at my school and I won't talk about what happened? You ki-"

Before Morty was aware of much more than a sharp yank on his wrists, he found himself standing on thick grass under soft sunlight, far removed from the sights and smells of Harry Herpson High School. The portal closed swiftly behind him, and Rick dropped his hold on Morty's arms.

"You want to talk so fucking badly?" Rick said. "Fine. Talk."

Wind thick with sand waved through Morty's hair, carrying an arctic chill. All around them, in every direction, the horizon loomed; a landscape of forests and hills that reached no higher than lengths of their waists. It took entirely too long for Morty to recognise the tiny planet upon which his family had once attempted to rebuild their lives, and even longer to convince himself it meant nothing that Rick had brought him there.

When Morty gazed up at his grandfather, he knew it must have been written plain on his face, could see it shining in Rick's eyes too, the fear of facing up to everything they are.

"I can't keep living like this, Rick." He said, quietly, exhausted by the weight of it. "I just can't do it anymore. Pretending that this _thing_ between us-"

Rick snorted loudly, like it was all some big joke.

"Y-you know what, Rick?" Morty snapped. "The Spanish have a saying; a lo hecho, pecho."

"¿Oh sí? Los españoles tienen otra expresión; ojo que no ve, corazón que no siente." Rick replied.

Morty stared at him blankly, before throwing his arms in the air. "Whatever! What I'm saying is, you - you can't run away from this, Rick! Not this time."

"You want to fuck someone?" Rick barked, and Morty's heart skipped a beat. "Go find some girl. Or some guy, I don't give a shit."

"You think I haven't tried?"

"What about that girl you like, huh? The one we - that you wanted that love potion for?"

" _Jessica?_ " Morty asked incredulously. "I haven't thought about her since the ninth grade, Rick. She's not - she's not the one I think about, you know. She's not the one keeping me up at night."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Morty, stop-"

"You kissed me!" Morty shouted. "You don't get to take the moral high ground anymore!"

They glowered at each other in silence. Distantly, Morty could hear the sound of birds chirping at the rising sun that would descend again in only an hour's time.

"You're my grandson." Rick replied at last, soft and sober. "It's wrong."

Morty was shocked, before bursting into laughter, loud and harsh. Of all the excuses he had expected from Rick, this was the worst.  

Morty knew about grandparents. They were lame Christmas presents under the tree, awkward Thanksgiving dinners across an unfamiliar table, birthday cards in the mail. They were lipstick-smearing kisses and 'look at how much you've grown', or 'how old are you now, my boy?' or 'you look so like your father did at your age'. Rick was about as far away from being a grandparent as you could get.

"You never gave a shit about right and wrong," Morty spat, his tone taunting. "So what are you so - so fucking afraid of, _Richard?_ "

Rick scowled deeply. "Why don't you just f-fucking spit out whatever it is your tiny brain is struggling so hard to articulate, _Mortimer?_ " He returned, scathing.

"I want you to say it!" Morty barked. "I want you to tell me how you feel, Rick!"

"You want me to tell you what a sick piece of shit I am?" Rick challenged. "That I, that I get off on thinking about you, huh? That I _only_ get off thinking about you? I-is that what you wanna hear?"

Heat rushed over Morty's skin. "What's so wrong with that?"

"What's - Jesus Christ, Morty! What isn't wrong with it? I'm your fucking grandpa!"

"You know it isn't that simple." Morty objected. "Its never been that simple, not between us."

Rick scoffed, eyeing him sharply.

"Look, you want to hear me say it? I want you." His gaze locked with Morty's, and burned with the truth of it. Morty's chest swelled and swelled. "I know you want me. But, Morty, listen to me, it just isn't-"

"You don't know," Morty countered quickly. "You said there are infinite dimensions, infinite versions of you and me, what if somewhere out there-"

"You think just because other Ricks might be thinking about their Mortys-"

"I'm not even 'your' Morty!" He shouted, suddenly furious. "That-that eye patch Morty, that 'evil' Morty," he took a deep, shuddering breath, and thought, _I'm finally saying it_. "He's your real Morty, isn't he? I'm just a - a replacement!"

A dark cloud passed over Rick's face, and all the gentleness in him was gone.

"Is that fuck - is that what you fucking think?" Rick thundered, and Morty took a hasty step back. "You think I-I-I - that I _abandoned_ my real grandson in that fucking Morty-torture dimension and what, murdered your grandpa to steal his family?"

 _Well, yes,_ Morty thought, all his confidence shaken.

"H-he, what he did, the way he looked at you," Morty stammered. "He hates you-"

"He hates _every_ Rick," Rick retorted bitingly. "Because his Rick was some evil asshole who - who didn't keep his distance, okay? Who took more than - who got too fucking close!"

Realisation dawned on Morty in a terrible, long sweep.

The parting words of his cold counterpart returned in a rush, and, two years too late, Morty finally grasped their meaning. _'Look out for him... for Rick'_. Not concern, but a warning.

"The pictures," Morty said, grasping for all the intricate strings of evidence that had held his certainty together all this time. "In Birdperson's house, of you holding that - that baby - i-it's not possible-"

"I take you all across the galaxy, to universes where I-I'm a fucking god, I halt time for six months for you to clean the goddamn house, and you don't think I could visit my own grandson without anyone knowing?" Rick demanded.

"I'm," he breathed, looking up at his grandfather, meeting his eyes. "I'm really... really your Morty?"

Rick smiled at him, a cruel, thin line, full of self-loathing. "My f-flesh and fucking blood. Still want me to - to _touch_ you, Morty?"

From the very pit of his stomach, the visceral center of himself from which all instinct stemmed, the answer came, at once more potent than any thought or feeling he'd had over the past two years.

Morty took one step, had time to see only a flash of Rick's stunned expression before he launched himself on to the tips of his toes to mash his mouth against his grandfather's.

Teeth clicked together, noses were squashed, and Morty moaned brokenly.

Rick's hands were on him in an instant, crushing the boy to his chest. Fingers pressed against the nape of Morty's neck, dug into his back, holding tight enough to bruise.

"Morty," Rick groaned, pulling away. "Wait."

Years he had spent thinking about this, dreaming of it; Rick's hands moving over his body, Rick's mouth hot and needy on his own, Rick's voice moaning his name. Morty was done waiting. His tongue darted over his lips, aching with the need to be kissed again, and Rick chased it with his eyes, exhaling unevenly.

"I'm an old drunk, Morty. I'm not, I'm not the one you want." He protested, even as his fingers slipped beneath his grandson's shirt, mouth hovering over Morty's own. "I'm not a good pick, kid, even you could figure that out."

Morty knew he was hard, had never felt so hard in his life, could feel that Rick was too as he leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the long line of the man's throat, his pulse thundering under Morty's lips.

The hand buried in Morty's hair ripped his head back, forced him to meet his grandfather's gaze.

"It won't be enough." Rick ground out, as though every word were painful to say. "Whatever you give me, i-it won't - I'll want more. I want it all."

"I know." He said. He'd always known. Once would never be enough, for either of them.

"I'm a selfish bastard, Morty." Rick threatened. "I'll take it. I'll take what I want from you."

"It's already yours." Morty replied, reaching for the collar of his coat.

Rick's expression faltered. Morty could see the cogs in his brain turning at light speed, searching for the right thing to say to make him understand. "I'm not going to keep saying no, Morty."

"Then don't." Morty said, as he dragged Rick's mouth back down to meet his own.

The truth was, Morty was hurting. Had been hurting for so long with the need for it. And maybe Rick had been hurting, too; every sound he made was pained, drawn from him like blood from an old wound as his hands moved over Morty's body. When Rick's tongue slipped between his teeth, it felt as though the whole world had tilted on its side.

Morty hadn't even noticed they had been moving until his back met with the hard wooden exterior of the cabin. It was a wonder it was still standing, hardly looked any worse for wear, and Morty's legs almost gave out beneath him as Rick hauled him through the front door. As they staggered inside and his gaze fell on the misshapen straw-stuffed bed in the corner of the room, Morty understood. There was no going back from this.

"You make me feel like a r-real demented fucker, you know that, Morty?" Rick told him as he kneeded Morty's ass through his jeans, ground their erections together with a groan. "Like I'm going fucking crazy, watching you walk around like that. You're killing me, kid."

Together, they stumbled toward the bed, and Morty was pushed until his legs gave way, falling on to his back on the hard, lumpy mattress. His heart pounded as Rick tore through his clothing, eyes raking over Morty's body, lingering on his flushed, heaving chest and bare, smooth stomach.

Rick's hand trembled as he unbuttoned the fly on Morty's jeans.

"I'm going to hell." He murmured to himself.

"Like you weren't already." Morty replied, breathlessly.

Rick's mouth descended on Morty's skin, pulled a whine from him as he kissed a trail of heat from his ribs to his abdomen. When his fingers dipped beneath the waist band of Morty's boxer shorts, the boy lifted himself off the bed, allowed his grandfather to pull his jeans down to his thighs.

Rick gripped Morty's hips with both hands, kept him planted firmly in place as he leaned forward, hot breath sweeping over the teenager's rigid erection. Morty couldn't stop shaking, opened his mouth to speak, when Rick drew a slow, dirty lick up the underside of his cock.

Morty moaned low and long.

"Yeah, you like that?" Rick asked coarsely, pupils blown large and dark with lust as he took hold of Morty's arousal in one long-fingered hand and closed his lips over its leaking head.

" _Fuck,_ " Morty cried, hands flying to cover his face.

The fact that he could tell Rick had done this before turned him on more than Morty was comfortable admitting. He knew he wouldn't last long, dared to glance down again, and the sight of Rick's eyes, locked with his own, as he bobbed steadily up and down Morty's hard shaft was almost immediately too much to bear.

"Rick," Morty bleated, pushing at his grandfather's shoulders in warning. "I-I can't..."

Rick opened his mouth, let Morty see his own reddened cock laying heavy on his tongue, and Morty came right there, Rick stroking him through it, swallowing it down.

"Oh my god," Morty gasped as Rick climbed on top of him, captured his lips again roughly.

"You know what I wanna do to you, Morty?" Rick rasped, hardness pressed against Morty's hip. "You know what I wanna do?"

Morty did know. He had read countless stories, watched innumerable videos, fantasised for years about Rick doing it to him.

With unsteady hands, Morty pushed Rick's coat off of his shoulders, tugged at his shirt until the old man allowed him to slip it over his head. Rick's hands covered his own as Morty fumbled with the belt of his pants, helped him drag the zip down until his grandfather's trapped erection sprung free.

Morty's heart was beating in his throat as he, too, was at last divested of the jeans tangled around his legs.

"Jesus, Morty, l-look at you..." Rick said, like he couldn't believe it.

He drew Morty into a deep, devouring kiss, and the taste of himself on his grandfather's tongue combined with the slide of Rick's naked skin against his own brought Morty surging back to semi-hardness once again.

" _Rick,_ " he wailed, unable to find the words, rutting mindlessly as their hips ground together.

"I know, baby," Rick groaned, and Morty's entire body shook.

Rick lifted his legs, let his hand drift down past Morty's arousal and beneath his sack to where his entrance sat, untouched. Morty bit back a desperate moan as fingers pressed lightly against the crease of his ass, when suddenly Rick froze.

Frustration wracked Morty's body. His hands balled into fists, eyes flashing as if to say that Rick shouldn't, couldn't hold back on him now, when Rick's strained voice beat him to it.

"Lube, Morty. We need," Rick pulled back slightly, and Morty felt gutted by the loss. "My left pocket."

Rick's gaze followed him hungrily as Morty hastily reached over the side of the bed, dug into Rick's discarded pants and emerged with a small, pink tube of _something_ , covered in bright alien writing.

Under normal circumstances, Morty would have asked what it was. As it stood, every second he spent, his senses filled with the sight and the sound and the smell of Rick, he burned with need to feel the man's hands on him again.

Rick wasted no time in unscrewing the cap and emptying the tube's contents onto his fingers, coating them in thick, clear liquid the consistency of toothpaste. When he pushed Morty's legs apart and rubbed against his entrance again, it felt cold and slimy, sent a shiver down Morty's spine and kicked his frantic heart into overdrive.

_This is really happening._

"Breathe, Morty." Rick soothed, stroking the teenager's side with his free hand, sending sparks of electricity rippling over his skin when his thumb brushed over Morty's nipple. "Y-you gotta relax."

Morty did his best to calm himself down, took a deep and steadying breath, but a strangled gasp clawed its way past his lips the moment Rick eased one slick finger inside of him.

It was a strange sensation, the feeling of being opened. Rick stretched him carefully, expertly skirted the line between uncomfortable and unbearable, always just on the edge of something good.

His erection was waning, too much of his focus centered on the struggle not to clench himself shut, until Rick's finger twisted, pressed against a spot about two knuckles deep, and Morty was choking, a cry of rapture erupting from his chest.

" _There_ we go," Rick smirked as he added another finger to Morty's slowly loosening hole, arching toward his prostate again and drawing a string of curses from him.

" _Fuck,_ Rick, o-oh my _god,_ " Morty whined, writhing under his hands.

He hissed when Rick added a third finger, knew that he was going too fast, that Rick was losing his composure, that he wanted it just as badly as Morty did. Worse, maybe.

Morty raked his nails over Rick's shoulders as Rick kissed the curve of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the edge of his hairline above his ear, all over, until Morty was gasping, aching for it.

When Morty's moans hit a crescendo and Rick couldn't wait any longer, he pulled his fingers out of his ass, moved to roll him onto his belly - but Morty refused to turn, wrapped his legs around his grandfather's waist defiantly.

Rick hesitated, slick hands gripping Morty's hips. "It'll hurt more like this," he warned.

"I don't care." Morty replied, locking his ankles together. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he needed to see his face.

Rick's eyes bore into Morty's own as he reached for his lab coat, still clinging to the edge of the bed, bundled it together in his hands and lifted Morty's hips, slipping it beneath him.

The last of the alien lube was spread over Rick's erection as he lined himself up between Morty's legs, hands running up and down his grandson's trembling thighs as the hard, blunt head of his cock probed the ring of muscle at Morty's entrance, far larger than any finger had been.

Blood rushed in Morty's ears, he fisted one hand in his mouth, pressed the other against his grandfather's stomach, and whimpered as Rick slowly pushed inside of him.

"Fu- _uck,_ " Rick's voice hitched.

Morty couldn't breathe. His chest felt as tight as a vice, his ass hot and full and stretched impossibly wide. He felt as though he were falling apart, and more than that, he welcomed it; savored the sharp sting that reverberated up his spine as Rick's cock sank gradually deeper. It didn't feel like suffering, it felt like relief.

 _Finally,_ Morty thought. _Finally._

"So tight," Rick grunted, the muscles under Morty's fingers twitching as he stilled, allowed the boy to grow used to his girth. "Goddamn it, Morty, y-you're so..."

For just a moment, Morty's mind drifted, and he saw them both as an outsider would. There they are, Rick Sanchez and Morty Smith, he said to himself. Grandfather and grandson, fucking each other on a canvas bed sewn together with tiny, dried palm fronds, the only two people in the world at last.

When Rick moved inside of him, it shocked Morty to his core. He was gentle, far gentler than Morty had thought he would be, his thrusts shallow and steady, sending stabs of pain ricocheting over his body.

"Rick," Morty gasped, fighting the urge to clench himself shut. "I-I..."

"It's okay, baby." Rick cooed, his brow creased in concentration. "J-just hold on..."

It took some maneuvering, but at last Rick angled his thrusts _just so_ , hit Morty's prostate with the full brunt of his probing cock, and Morty spasmed, a strangled shout tearing itself from his throat.

" _Fuck yeah,_ " Rick groaned, drawing a shuddering breath through his nose as he picked up his pace, Morty's hips rising to meet his own as he began thrusting in earnest.

The pleasure was harder and sharper than any Morty had ever known. It built quickly between them, and before long Morty was drowning in it, his moans bouncing off the walls, mingling with Rick's, timed to the sound of their bodies meeting again and again.

Trapped between them, Morty's cock felt as hard as stone. He took himself in hand, pumped only once before Rick swatted him away, whining as the man shifted his weight, threw one of Morty's legs over his shoulder and the other into the crook of his elbow, bent Morty almost in half as he leaned over him, wild eyed and wanting.

"You're mine, Morty." Rick growled, bearing down on him. "Say it."

Morty gazed up at Rick, rose one shaking hand and raked it through his grandfather's hair.

"You're mine." He said, like a promise.

Rick looked stricken, his thrusts faltering before he pinned Morty down to the bed, drew him into a crushing kiss.

Morty knew he couldn't hold out much longer. The pleasure was reaching a critical point, like the feeling of weightlessness just before a roller coaster plunged over a steep drop. His toes curled as he dug his heels into Rick's back, his erection leaking pre-come, smearing it over his stomach, over Rick's chest.

"Oh, baby..." Rick moaned, low and rough.

 _This man held me when I was a baby,_ Morty thought with sudden clarity, _he's the reason I was born._ As Rick panted above him, face screwed up in pleasure, Morty realised, really, finally comprehended for the first time that it was his grandfather who lay on top of him, moved inside of him.

The orgasm that accompanied this realisation ripped through Morty's body with a vicious, white heat. He was certain that he screamed, reasonably sure that it had been Rick's name.

Rick's mouth captured his own violently, hips stuttering as they lost all rhythm, pounding in to him with abandon.

"Fuck, fucking shit, Mmmorty," he rasped in Morty's ear, hands sliding up Morty's sides and down his chest shakily, reverently. "F-fucking so, s-so goddamn..."

Morty wrapped his arms around Rick's neck, thought to himself then that he would never let him go, held on for dear life as sparks flew behind his eyelids with every powerful thrust to his now almost painfully sensitive prostate, waves of pleasure wracking every muscle in his body.

"Beautiful," Rick grunted into his neck, "just, love, fuck - _Morty!_ "

Rick came with so deep a groan that Morty felt it in his bones, knew he would feel it for days, reverberating to the very depths of him.

As they lay boneless and breathless in the afterglow, neither of them spoke. Their chests were pressed so tightly together that their heartbeats could be felt thumping right beside each other. Rick made no protest, watched with eyes glazed with satisfaction as Morty ran his fingers over the stubble on his grandfather's chin, his own carding through Morty's sweat-damp hair, slow and tender.

Morty winced when Rick pulled away, felt semen trickle from the stretched cleft of his ass, pulling the lab coat from under his hips just as Rick dropped beside him on the lumpy mattress with a sigh.

"This isn't gonna have a happy ending, Morty." Rick's voice rumbled beside him. "It'd have to be a secret, from everyone we know."

"Yeah." Morty replied. He had been keeping secrets for as long as he could remember.

"And I'm not getting any younger. Well, unless Operation Phoenix 2.0 succeeds-"

"Rick, listen." Morty interrupted, turning his head to look at his grandfather's face. "I'm not here with you because you're, like, the best choice out of a list of - of viable candidates, okay? There's no one else. Never going to be anyone else, I think. And I've... I'm okay with that. I mean, shit, Rick, how many people ever get what we have, anyway? O-our adventures, if they've taught me anything, it's that there's so little happiness in the universe, you can't let any of it slip away, you know? And this, being here with you... this makes me happy."

Rick didn't reply. He lay perfectly still, his brow creased ever so slightly. Morty knew better than to press him. They lapsed into a pensive but comfortable silence, basking in the shared warmth of their bodies, laying close enough to touch.

"You still got that contract?" Rick said at last.

The question caught Morty off-guard. Of course he had it, had gazed at it with bitter longing almost every day during Rick's absence.

"Uh, yeah, I think so." He replied.

"Should hand it in to the Citadel." Rick stretched, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he stood and retrieved his pants. "D-don't really want a Rick wa _OUA_ lking in on us when we're getting busy sometime, y-you know, chasing us for _paperwork_ , or whatever."

Elation swept through Morty's entire being, and Rick must have sensed it, turned and scowled at him as he pelted the boy's boxers at his chest.

Morty smothered the grin that threatened to break over his face as he carefully stood. His legs felt like jelly, and sharp pain shot from his lower back as he bent to retrieve his jeans.

"I haven't written anything in it yet." He said at length.

"What do you want?" Rick replied, and Morty stilled.

For once, Rick didn't sound defensive. When he turned and looked up at his grandfather, Morty found him relaxed, pants tugged lazily around his hips, face still flushed with gratification. Morty may be as dumb as Rick was smart, but even he could recognise an olive branch when one was handed right to him.

"You can't leave again." Morty said, and he wasn't asking. "You can't go anywhere off-planet without me knowing."

Rick's face was inscrutable, a picture of careful indifference, but he nodded slowly.

"Beth can never know." He replied. "Not now, not ever. Not even when I'm dead."

Morty's heart clenched painfully, both at the thought of Rick's death and the look on his mother's face if she ever found out the truth.

"I get a say in all adventure-related decisions." Morty answered. "W-which means, if you want to do something crazy and reckless, something which might get us both killed, I get to say no."

Rick's brow furrowed. "No more school." He countered.

"I have to go to school, Rick." Morty sighed.

"Fine. Then..." Rick's eyes skittered away, before fixing on Morty's again firmly. "I-I know your brain is soaked in, in crazy teenage hormones, and that y-you're basically a walking hard-on with legs, but I don't take sloppy seconds, you got it?"

Morty was floored. Out of the two of them, he would never have guessed that _Rick_ would be the one to ask for exclusivity. "Deal." He said quickly.

"Deal." Rick grunted, and held his hand out for Morty to shake.

Morty smiled a little, extended his own hand, wasn't surprised at all when Rick yanked him to his chest and sealed the deal with a kiss.

It was ridiculous. Beyond stupid, really, knowing everything he did about Rick. But standing there in his arms, still giddy and warm with post-orgasmic bliss, Morty felt good. He felt safe.

They dressed each other in the gilded light of the falling sun, took their time cleaning semen from their skin and letting their hands move over each other's bodies one last time before they stepped away, prepared to face the outside world again.

Almost two years to the day that Morty had first laid eyes on the Citadel of Ricks, he emerged onto the palatial Council grounds of the Citadel Central. How much of the station had been rebuilt from its collision with the Galactic prison, Morty could only have guessed. By far and large, he found it much the same as he remembered.

There was, however, one key difference. Alongside the gleaming golden effigies and towering gardens of immaculate hedge, endless queues of Mortys could be seen, each with a thick wad of paper held protectively in their arms, buzzing with nervous energy.

The moment he joined the queue and Rick wandered from his side, Morty was alight with anxiety, had to keep reminding himself that the words _'I fucked my Rick'_ weren't etched on his forehead, that no one there could _know_.

As his gaze flickered uneasily over the crowd, he wondered how grave the punishment would be if they were somehow discovered. Whether it would be he or Rick on whom the Council would place the blame. How many more of the Ricks and Mortys standing around him now would have to die for them to escape alive.

Morty was unable to mask his surprise when he finally reached the front of the line and found himself standing before a fellow Morty, dressed in Citadel Security garb and wearing a weary expression.

"Contract." The Security Morty instructed, extending one gloved hand impatiently.

"Uh, r-right," Morty stammered, shaking as he handed the document over, crumpled slightly from his sweaty hands.

The Security Morty wasted no time, flipped his contract open straight to the back and dragged his gaze over the hastily scribbled terms of he and Rick's agreement, written at the last minute in the cramped space of Morty's bedroom closet.

Morty felt sure he was on the brink of a heart attack by the time the other Morty's eyes rose again to center on his own. They couldn't have given themselves away, he told himself. They had been so _careful_ , every word chosen with agonising discretion; but a flop-sweat had developed on his brow, and dread crept through his veins all the same. Just as his hands were balling into fists at his sides, prepared to fight or flee, the Security Morty arched an eyebrow at him.

"You haven't even decided on a date night?" He asked, wearily.

Morty's heart stopped beating. He couldn't have heard that right. "W-w-what?"

"A date night." The other replied, sighing. "You're gonna want one, you know, when you can't get your parents out of the house and your Rick gets frisky. Trust me."

"I-I-I don't-" Morty spluttered, heat rushing to his face - and then he noticed something, his gaze drifting over his counterpart's shoulder.

The Citadel was, as always, filled with Ricks and Mortys milling about together, standing, sitting, talking. But now Morty saw, there was something off about them; in the way they angled their bodies toward each other, a subtle difference in the nature of their expressions, a softness reflected in their eyes.

_It can't be-_

"Hey, come on, buddy," the Morty behind him complained. "You're, you know, you're holding up the line here."

"You're going to have to wait a moment, sir," the Security Morty replied. "This Morty hasn't written a date night into his contract yet."

"What?" A Morty further down the queue piped up. "Y-you gotta have at least one date night, man. And like, w-what are your signals? How are you gonna know when you're needed in the garage and when you're _'needed in the garage'_? You gotta think about this stuff!"

"Yeah!"

"Come on, man!"

"Get your shit together!"

At the Security Morty's insistence, Morty stepped out of the line, contract held weakly in his hands as orders to review his requests echoed dully in his ears.

Morty found his Rick standing in the center of the grounds, indelicately rinsing his mouth out with the contents of his flask and spitting into a nearby water fountain.

"Guess we all caved." Rick said as Morty approached him, completely unsurprised.

"We..." Morty breathed, as all around them, for every conceivable dimension within the central finite curve, there stood a Rick and a Morty, hovering just a little too close, gazing at each other just a little too long. "Were we the last ones?"

"Looks like it." Rick belched, kicking his heel against the side of the fountain, dislodging a sapling from the sole of his shoe.

Morty couldn't believe it. Somehow, in the space of a single day, they had gone from being completely irredeemable perverts to something approaching normality. He regarded the crowd with wonder, felt tension begin to ease itself from his shoulders as his gaze caught on one Rick in particular, holding his Morty's hand somewhat sheepishly.

"Ugh, how embarrassing." Rick groused beside him. "Hey, Z-501! You carry his pu _OHU_ rse for him too?" He called, and loudly imitated the sound of a whip cracking.

Morty couldn't help but laugh, and Rick grinned at him in response, held his gaze. It was love, Morty realised then. Their own fucked up, messy version of it, but love all the same.

Morty turned away. "Wow, these Mortys," he said, clearing his throat. "They're really making some changes around here, huh, Rick?"

"Yeah, w-who knows?" Rick said. "Maybe they'll get their shit together, start the, uh, Interdimensional Council of Mortys." He shrugged, taking a swill from his flask and swishing it around his mouth again. "Anything is possible."

"Yeah," Morty smiled. "Anything is possible."

Morty leaned into Rick's side, and felt the man's hand come to rest on the small of his back. It was warm, as natural as breathing, ever so slightly possessive, and it made Morty's heart sing.

"Yo, C-137! Get a ro _OUO_ om, loser!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spanish Translation:**
> 
> **A lo hecho, pecho** \- translates loosely to 'in the face of deeds done, present a full chest'. It means 'what's done is done, and you're going to face the consequences whether you like it or not.'
> 
>  **Ojo que no ve, corazón que no siente** \- translates literally to 'eye that doesn't see, heart that doesn't feel'. It means 'what you don't know can't hurt you.' 
> 
> The full line of Spanish that Rick says is: "Oh yeah? Well the Spanish have another saying: what you don't know can't hurt you."
> 
> Many thanks for your patience with this third and final part to the story! Its been a labor of love, one I hope that you enjoy. 
> 
> I am tremendously proud to have contributed to this fandom, and with season 3 coming soon, you can absolutely expect more Rick and Morty fics from me in the future! Until then, keep it real, my glip glops.


End file.
